


Behind his back

by usedupshiver



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:17:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver
Summary: They have a deal. This mutually satisfactory arrangement of casual fucks, while still remaining  friends out in the world. Which is a great thing, except for how Tony is screwing the deal up by enjoying the tiny, domestic moments when they clean up afterward more than he did the actual sex – because the sex isgreatbut the rest is likecoming home.





	1. Chapter 1

”Is this the same room as last week?”

Tony blinks out of his almost-asleep afterglow to lift his head off of his downy-soft pillow and glance over at Bucky. Who is slightly propped up against pillows and headboard, his one arm folded up behind his head and showing the pale underside of his deeply curved bicep, the ridges of his ribs, the tuft of dark, spicy-smelling hair at his armpit. He is looking out through the window.

”Hm, no”, Tony murmurs, voice a little rough, and the sound of it makes Bucky's plush mouth twist up in a smug hint of a smile, without him turning his eyes in Tony's direction. ”Last week was 519. This is 419.”

”Thought the view was familiar.” There is no comment about Tony remembering the room numbers with such uselessly perfect recall. Bucky knows he automatically stores information like that away and never loses it.

”Yeah.” Tony's eyes aren't on the window, though. They're taking in the landscape that is Bucky's relaxed body, spread out on the rumpled duvet.

His chest is rising and falling slowly, having caught his breath faster than Tony, who can still feel his heart thumping a little too enthusiastically behind his ribs. The long, flat stretch of his abdomen, dotted by birthmarks Tony knows by heart now, star constellations he could draw perfectly from memory. His lean legs are slightly fallen apart in a relaxed spread, one mostly straight, the other angled out a bit at the knee so that his long toes almost brush the inside of his opposite calf.

Bucky's dick is soft now, cradled in the enticing hollow of his hip. His black pubic hair is trimmed short enough to not mess with the view, and Tony is free to appreciate the blushed pink, shining with wet. It looks almost shy, hidden away in its sheath of foreskin, faintly wrinkled, pinched together at the tip. 

If it didn't sound a bit like an insult, even in his own blissed-out head, Tony would call it cute. 

That's the kind of thing that's going to get him into serious trouble, though. Both because he's even thinking it. Because he's looking at Bucky's flaccid dick, still wet with lube and Tony's own spit, and thinking that it's goddamn adorable. 

And because he knows that's the sort of thing he'll find himself carelessly blurting out one of these days. It's one of the truest things he's felt in weeks and Tony has always been bad at swallowing those things back down when they want to slip across his tongue.

He clenches his teeth to keep it in at least for now, twists away and throws his legs off the bed, rolling up to sit at the edge.

”I'm taking a shower.”

Bucky just hums in response, so Tony pushes up on wobbly legs to walk into the bathroom.

The bright but soft light around the mirror is flattering, but somehow his eyes seem too big for his face, his bruised-looking lips too red. Tony turns away and steps into the shower, losing himself in the steamy heat of the water, the coconut and almond scent of the hotel's body wash. But he doesn't stay more than a few minutes, not willing to miss too much of what time they have left today. Even if he shouldn't think about it like that.

Right when he's about to turn the water off, the frosted glass door to the shower slides open to let in a rush of too-cool air, and Bucky. Tony isn't sure which of those things is making goosebumps rush up his legs.

”Fancy seeing you here”, Tony says, proud that he manages to sound so light and teasing.

Bucky shrugs and smiles. ”Shower sounded like a really good idea.” 

”Knock yourself out.”

The shower is big, but Bucky still brushes against his side when they step around each other, trade places under the spray of water. And maybe that's why Tony doesn't step outside right away. It's like that brief touch of wet skin on damp skin has tethered him to Bucky, and his eyes sneak over his shoulder to watch as Bucky tips his head back under the showerhead, the tangles of his long hair turning dark and smooth with the flow of water, as his hand goes to his soft cock, palm rubbing and pulling the foreskin back enough to give Tony a glimpse of the dark pink glans, washing it clean.

It takes an act of will to make Tony glance away because, again, watching your friend wash his dick shouldn't be cute. If anything, considering their arrangement, it should make him want to drop to his knees on the tiles and start over what they were doing before. That's not it, though. At all. It makes Tony want to step back into the spray, press up tight behind Bucky's back, and give him two extra hands in washing up. Rub slick body wash over the silky, soft, strangely innocent length of Bucky's cock. Not to get it hard, just to enjoy the feel of it. Wash the warm dips of his hips, the hairy hollows of his armpits, bury his nose in the nape of Bucky's neck...

Tony shakes himself like a wet dog and pushes the door open with a bit more force than is entirely necessary. Behind him Bucky makes a displeased little grumble at the cool rush of air, and Tony hurries to step out and close the door for him.

He's managed to rub himself dry when Bucky turns the water off and joins him on the fluffy rug, so Tony hands over a fresh towel.

”Thanks.” Bucky wipes his face and leans forward to vigorously rub one end of the towel through his hair. Then he stands up, starts to dry his chest, and turns his back to Tony. Who uses the driest end of his own towel to rub droplets of water off Bucky's back. 

He'd told Tony that getting his back dry on his own with one hand was the most annoying part of taking showers since the accident, and since then Tony always helps him do it. It's not like it's a hardship, listening to Bucky's pleased purrs as he arches his upper back into Tony's hand like a cat.

Afterward, Tony watches as Bucky gracefully steps into his underwear, the extra movements required to tug them up around his narrow hips with his one hand. And suddenly he understands. Suddenly he knows what the reason is for this uneasy knot of anxiety in his gut, the one that always shows up toward the end of their meetings. 

It feels like he's having an affair.

Or, it's what he imagines it would feel like. That's a line he's never crossed and never will. But once the thought has settled, it still fits. 

There is something clandestine about these meetings that always happen in an anonymous hotel room, far removed from their daily lives, their friends. It's not rushed or secretive, because they have nothing to actually hide, but it still exists in a bubble separate from everything else they share. Cut off from reality. They step into this alternate universe where they spend an hour or two tangling themselves together so tightly Tony can barely tell where he ends and Bucky begins. Hungry skin against hungry skin. And then they get up and leave, and all he has is the taste of salty musk at the back of his throat and he might as well have imagined the whole thing.

Tony knows who he's cheating on, too. 

It's Bucky.

They have a deal. This mutually satisfactory arrangement of casual fucks, while still remaining friends out in the world. Which is a great thing, except for how Tony is screwing the deal up by enjoying the tiny, domestic moments when they clean up afterward more than he did the actual sex – because the sex is _great_ but the rest is like _coming home_. By thinking that Bucky's marshmallow-soft dick is the cutest thing. By wanting nothing more than to stay in this bubble where their routine of Tony helping Bucky towel his back dry is the real thing, and the world out there is made up.

Not that he's wishing away reality. Having Bucky as a friend means a lot to him.

But...

But these stolen glimpses of _more_ are slowly driving him out of his mind.

He's fucking Bucky behind Bucky's back and it's starting to twist his head up in ways he doesn't know how long he's going to stand.

”Hey?”

Tony looks up from his thoughts and the boxer briefs he's just managed to get himself into, and finds Bucky watching him, eyes full of something Tony can't name, but a hint of a smile on his lips. ”Yeah?”

”You need to get back home tonight?”

Confused, Tony blinks. Then he shakes his head. He needs to get back to the office tomorrow AM, but there is no real rush, and even if he went home right this minute, he wouldn't sleep. So there's that. ”No, why?”

”I kinda have tomorrow off.” Bucky shrugs, smile becoming wider and more natural, even though Tony hadn't realized there was a strain to it before it's gone. He doesn't have a job yet, but most of his days are still filled with therapy sessions and working out, getting his body back to being his. ”Wanna stay here, watch bad TV, and order up room service?”

Because that sounds like exactly everything Tony does want, he has to keep his answering smile small, his enthusiastic reaction curbed to a shrug and a, ”Sure, we have the room until morning anyway.”

He drops the jeans he's already reached for back on the floor, and goes to flop down on the bed. It's soft and cool and comfortable, and Tony lets himself go heavy, sinking happily into the mattress, and their secretly domestic bubble.

Bucky turns the TV on, joins him on the bed, and then shuffles closer and slots himself in right by Tony's side, as if he feels like he belongs there. His damp head settles on the front of Tony's shoulder, by the dip to his pectoral, his right arm comfortably heavy across Tony's abdomen, the barely-there stump of his left arm hidden between their ribcages.

And for possibly the millionth time Tony thinks that the reason he's definitely going to hell – the big one, the reason that finally sealed the deal – is that part of him is grateful that Bucky was in that accident. Not that he's happy that happened to him, that Bucky lost his arm and has to live with that. But because if that hadn't happened, they wouldn't be right here, right now. 

If Bucky hadn't reached the point where he had thrown his prosthesis across Tony's livingroom with a roar and then slumped down on the floor by the couch, curled up and panting. Growling at Tony about how the straps on the fucking thing rubbed him raw and how much people still stared at him and this was it, he was going to fucking die alone. If that hadn't happened, Tony wouldn't have come to offer to start this friends with benefits thing in the first place.

”Pity fucks?” Bucky had glared at him.

”Yeah, I don't do pity”, Tony snorted. ”Do you even know me?”

It had almost felt like Bucky was taking him up on a dare that first time. Waiting to watch Tony's resolve crumble when he got to see Bucky bare-chested and scarred and armless and it hadn't happened. Hadn't been close to happening.

Tony couldn't tell him, because it would reveal much too much, but even with one arm gone, Bucky was the most whole and solid person Tony knew.

Part of it had probably slipped through the cracks anyway because that first time had ended with neither of them actually getting off, and instead there had just been the two of them, only half out of their clothes, and Bucky crying in his arms for almost two hours. And it was when Tony realized he wasn't disappointed by that, to have gotten them that first hotel room hoping to fuck his ridiculously hot best friend and ended up with a tear-soaked chest instead of an orgasm, that he knew this was all a terrible mistake and that he shouldn't give it another shot, because it would end in heartbreak.

But because Tony is a masochistic moron, they are still here. Cuddled together in sheets that smell of sex, watching some mindless sitcom while Bucky now and then shakes with chuckles against his side, and his fingers curl around Tony's waist. Holding him close.

Too relaxed into their parallel universe to think about it, Tony lifts a hand and buries his fingers in the tresses of Bucky's hair, still clumped up with wet from the shower, and listens to the pleased little noise that rumbles in Bucky's chest in response. And decides that he'll just go with it, enjoy it while it lasts.

Because tomorrow morning he'll have to smile at his friend again, casually tell him goodbye when they check out and leave, and pretend he hasn't just spent a night together with the love of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been just over five months when Tony finally reaches his breaking point.

Bucky has sauntered across the room, bounced down on the bed, and bent down to untie his boots. His hair is tied up in a messy bun at the nape of his neck today, and Tony can clearly see the angle of his cheekbone, the shadow running down to his jaw, the hint of stubble, long lashes fanning over pale skin. Full lips tilting down at a corner in annoyance as the knot resist his one-handed tugging.

And abruptly Tony just can't with this anymore. Can't watch Bucky shed their friendship along with his clothes, turn into the man Tony _loves_ , and then pull reality back on and leave at the end of the night.

”Wait”, he blurts, sounding strangled to his own ears.

Bucky lets go of his shoelaces and sits up straight. ”What?” His face is wide open, gray eyes clear.

”I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you out here.” Tony scratches his fingers back through his hair, feels them tremble, and has to grip the back of his neck for support. His eyes drop helplessly to the mocha-coloured carpet. ”Just... I can't do this anymore.”

The silence is like what he imagines the dark depths of outer space must be like; so full of _nothing_ that it can crush you.

It goes on for so long that Tony finally has to look back up. He hadn't thought it would get more of a reaction out of Bucky than perhaps some mild annoyance because he had expected a tumble in bed and will now have to make do with his own hand instead. But when he sees Bucky's face, Tony realizes that no, that is absolutely not what Bucky is feeling. He doesn't know exactly what is going on in his wide eyes, but it's not annoyance.

Bucky stares, lips a little slack, like he's had a nasty shock. ”You're...?” He stutters and tries again. ”You're breaking up with me?”

And suddenly it's Tony's turn to stare, thrown for such a loop that the world seems to be tilting perilously hard to the side, threatening to tip him right off the face of the earth.

”Breaking up?!” Tony is practically sputtering, sure he must have heard that wrong somehow. ”How could I even...? We're not together!” They're not! That's the whole point of the deal!

Only, that's not what the confusion and, yeah, _hurt_ on Bucky's face is saying. 

”We're not...?” Bucky looks as thrown as Tony feels.

But then Bucky blinks and something clears in his face again. Like he's had an epiphany. And his plush lips fall open in a dumbstruck O, before he shoots to his feet and takes the quick steps across the room, stopping right in Tony's space. It forces Tony to tip his head back, his hand falling from his neck to hang limply by his side, as Bucky's hand comes up to gently cup the side of his face.

”Tony...”, he says, voice soft and sweet, but with a hint of exasperation at the edge. ”Of course we're together, Tony.” He gives a little huff that could be amusement, and drops forward, forehead suddenly warm and heavy against Tony's. ”Jesus... What do you think we've been doing here?”

Tony wants to protest, because he thinks they have been doing what they said they were doing, just being friends with some pretty amazing benefits. But he makes himself swallow the automatic words down, blinks and looks, really looks, at the last few months through the lense of this new information.

And he doesn't see just casual sex. He sees languid cuddling. Sees nights where they never even come around to fucking because they get lost in making out, for _hours_ , and fall asleep with their mouths swollen and tingling and tasting the same. He sees bathroom routines, Bucky smiling at him with a toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth, lips foamy with toothpaste. Sees them sharing coffee in the morning, Bucky straightening the knot of Tony's tie before they go out to face the day, sending him off with a kiss to his temple.

”Oh...”

Bucky huffs again, and now it's definitely both amused and exasperated. But he also brushes his thumb by the soft skin at the corner or Tony's eye, where there would be crow's feet if he had felt at all like smiling, instead of just awestruck. ”Yeah, genius... 'Oh'.”

Hands strill trembling, but for a different reason now, Tony twists his fingers into Bucky's t-shirt on both sides of his lower back. He tips his head faintly to both sides in a slightly awkward shake, forehead still pressed to Bucky's. ”Then no, fuck no, I'm _definitely_ not breaking up with you.”

”Good.” The word is a little rough, a little fierce, and Tony isn't surprised when Bucky catches the hair at the back of his head in his fist and slots their mouths together. Swallows Tony's shaky, relieved sigh, breathes possessive affection right back into his lungs.

For a long while they just stand like that, pressed together, sharing air. Then Tony pulls back just enough to catch Bucky's eyes.

”You want to skip the hotel rooms and just... go back to my place?”

Bucky's smile is wide and brilliant. ”Thought you'd never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm a sucker for the happy endings...


End file.
